


Anything with Wings

by slash4femme



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock's eyes are human</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything with Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2009. I do not change/edit my older work, I just upload it here for archival reasons.

The thing that I am attracted to the most is his gentleness. There is an almost vulnerability about him too. Oh I’ve seen him get mad, hell I’ve seen him almost kill Jim, but there is still a deep core of gentleness about Spock. Even at his most bitchy Spock is never cruel, never a hard man. There is a sadness there too, a sadness the runs deep, deeper than I think Spock knows. The sadness has been there for as long as I have known him with no sign that anyone or I will ever be able to heal it and I am beginning to think it is caused by something more profound than the death of his mother. I sometimes wonder if it’s that sadness that made Uhura leave him in the end. That perhaps she wanted a man she could save.

Spock’s eyes are human, deeply emotional, although I can’t always tell what emotions they reflect; anger, fear, joy, sadness. Sometimes I think perhaps it is all of them, all the human emotions he doesn’t allow himself to feel.

When we are alone together I cannot stop touching him, his hand, shoulder, his back. I stroke his hair when we lay together, touch his sides, his face. Although I’ve learned to curb it through Starfleet regulations and my own professionalism I am a very tactile person and I was raised to show physical comfort to those I hold dear. Spock’s sadness draws me, makes me want to reach out to him, to comfort him any way possible. He never stops me, or turns away and I like to think in some way he does find it comforting. Perhaps his human side needs to know he is wanted, cared for.

I stroke one hand slowly down his chest, letting my fingers tangle in the dark hair I find there. I hope that he does understand how much it means that I am here, that after all the time we spend fighting, I am still here, in his cabin, in his bed. I wonder if he realizes how much is scares the shit out of me, being here, with him, caring this much about him.

I haven’t had the best luck with love in the past.

“Doctor.” It’s the first thing he’s said in what feels like hours, his hand coming down over mine holding it still against his own chest as he slowly turns to look at me.

“Call me Leonard.” I tell him for what feels like the hundred and tenth time. I pause for moment and consider the options “or Len.” I don’t say Lenny because I swore after the divorce no one would ever call me that again.

“Leonard.” He says surprising me because it’s not the first time we’ve been in bed together but it is the first time he’s used my first name. The vulnerability is there, and I want . . . oh God I want . . . but I don’t know what I want. For him to stop looking at me like I have all the answers maybe, like I can make him somehow understand this universe, this life. I can’t, so I kiss him instead. His hand is light, almost tentative on my hip, gently stroking there, and I lean into his touch. My tongue stroking across his lips coaxingly and he opens his mouth under mine, letting my in.

He always lets me take the lead, always defers to my touch, and I stroke one hand down his back and the other one along his shoulder and drawing our bodies flush against each other. We break apart only when I stop being able to breath, and I rock my hips forward causing me to gasp and his hand to come around the back of my neck holding on tightly, pressing my face against his shoulder.

I let my head rest against his shoulder inhaling the sent of him, kissing along his skin wondering how much further I can dig myself into this hole. He’s a Vulcan for God’s sake, and I’m an idiot, with no self-preservation because this went way passed a quick fuck or friends with benefits before he even kissed me the first time. My God, _the first time_ and this is so far from the first time. My hips have sped up without me actually telling them they where allowed to do that. His arms wraps around my waist, impossibly strong, and we are about evenly matched in size with me being possibly even a little bigger than he is, but he lifts me seemingly without effort and pulls until I’m lying on top of him our legs tangle together. I kiss him gently, then harder, and he opens his mouth to me letting me in again.

“Leonard.” I looked down at him questioningly, wondering if I’ve gone too far, or maybe not far enough. He reaches up and gently runs his hands along my neck and shoulders. I touch his face, his lips, his damnable pointy ears; try for a moment to pretend I don’t care just to see what that would feel like. He moves almost restlessly underneath me, and I focus back on him, trying to predict his needs. “Doctor. I believe it would be advisable for you begin preparations to penetrate me now.”

“Oh God. You are such a romantic, you know that Spock?”I let my head fall so my face is pressed into the crook of his neck for a moment before looking at him again. It’s a good thing I’m a doctor and never did blush easily; even if I did, having sex with Spock would have cured me of that by now.“Really know how to sweet-talk a man.”

He arches one eyebrow at me. “I can tell by your voice that you are employing sarcasm. I assure you I did not intend to cause offence.”

I sigh and kiss him briefly on the lips before reaching for the lubricant. “Oh Spock, you didn’t, trust me.”

I gently stroke his cock once and then twice and he spreads his legs further apart for me. “I do trust you Doctor.” He tells me in his soft, serious voice and I look down at him and wonder how I managed to get myself into this and how the hell I’ll get myself out again. “Leonard.” I tell him gently easing one slick finger into him, he shuts his eyes briefly but makes no noise at all as I add a second. I usually like my partners to be vocal about what they’re feeling, God knows I usually am, but Spock is different in all sorts of ways, his silence is just one of them. “You were going to call me Leonard.”

He closes his eyes again when I ease into him, his hands coming up to grip my upper arms like a vise. He doesn’t make a sound but his breathing speeds up and I try to go slow, try not to thrust into his tight heat.

“God . . . Spock . . .” This is the part I hate, the part where I start talking without being able to control what comes out of my mouth. The coherent part of my brain is terrified I’ll say something, give myself away somehow, but my mind is quickly being overwhelmed by the need for more, the need to move.

“Leonard, I am ready now.” For the life of me I will never understand how he can construct full sentences with me buried in him to the hilt. I only nod though and start to move, slowly and carefully.After a few thrusts I change my angle, rolling my hips, searching for the spot inside him. When I find it he gasps, his whole body arching, the only involuntary noise he’s made so far. I wonder if he knows how lucky he is to even have a prostate, most Vulcan men don’t, he can thank his mother’s genetics for that at least.

“So good . . . God, babe . . . ” My brain is quickly short-circuiting as I pick up speed. All my good intentions about being gentle and taking it slow lost. “Fuck . . .Jesus Fucking Christ . . _.Spock_.”

He shuts his eyes and turns his head to the side when he comes. His whole body shuddering but his expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t make a sound. I am nowhere near that controlled, and I do cry out when I come, collapsing on top of him, before slowly pulling out. As I lie there half on top of him, he’s hand comes up, stroking through my hair almost petting it for a few moments before dropping away to his side, and I’m too dazed to call him out on it.

He drifts off to sleep eventually and I congratulate myself for not saying anything stupid in the throws of passion, this time at least. I turn onto my side to look at him and wonder if he’s always going to be this damnably hard to figure out. I’m a smart man, one of the best at what I do, but Spock’s still a complete mystery to me. I think he might do it on purpose.

Jim told me about Spock’s older self, and about the alternative universe. It occurs to me to wonder if the older Spock’s eyes are sad as well, what I’m was like in the other reality, and if the other versions of ourselves knew each other there too. If the other Spock ever looked at the other me like _he_ does, clung to me, pleaded without words, without even realizing it, for me to save him. I wonder if I did. I think not, but that could just be my pessimism talking. I know I probably tried. 


End file.
